


The Vampires Familiar

by UnholyHelbig



Category: Legacies (TV 2018), The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, New Orleans, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:26:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24298819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyHelbig/pseuds/UnholyHelbig
Summary: Hope Mikaelson is the big bad in the city of New Orleans. She’s powerful, one of the most powerful creatures in the world, but when she stumbles across a witch that’s hiding from her own coven, she offers her an interesting deal in exchange for her own protection.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson & Lizzie Saltzman, Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman, Jade & Josie Saltzman, Jade/Josie Saltzman
Comments: 59
Kudos: 173





	1. Chapter 1

**[A/N: If you guys follow my oneshot book, you've totally read this first chapter. But everything else after that is new. Let me know what you think!]**

**Hope Mikaelson took** three even gulps of the shop's air and tasted magic. Old magic that burned the back of her throat and nipped at her lungs until she felt like they were on fire. The odd odor of rosemary and chamomile clung to her clothes. The herbs were stacked in even and dusty jars against the far-right shelves like candles in a store. They had no lids, and separately everything was harmless. But she feared what could be created when combined.

She listened as the bell chimed with her entrance to the small business at the edge of the French Quarter. It was narrow and long instead of large and wide, posters for an upcoming circus littered the walls and a few sheets of paper advertising summer babysitting had the bottoms crudely ripped off, number smeared in black ink.

When she was younger, Hope used to enjoy taking trips to magic shops with her Aunt Freya, the jazz scene in New Orleans had just sparked a flame and different melodies, melancholy and otherwise, flowed through the city like air. They would find herbs and boil them up and fix things that had been broken for a long time. 

That strength was felt the moment she walked through the door of Conrad Drew’s, Jade at her heels dutifully. There was soft gold light and the building shielded them from the sounds of the city, the bustle of parties, and iron wheels of cars.

Drew was an old man now, still holding himself correct behind the glass-paned counter with his fingers leaving little smudges. His hair was graying and his body fell rigid with fear when he glanced up, smile fading. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.” Was all he said.

“Don’t worry, we won’t stay long,” Hope responded, walking across the wood floor until she reached the desk. “I just have a few questions.”

“Take them somewhere else, plenty of magic shops in town.” 

Conrad Drew was a resolute man, once young and vibrant and strong in his words. He had held the shop under his thumb for the better part of a decade, before that, it was his fathers, and his before that. Hope met him when he was twenty, simple, and able to down liquor as if it were pure water. He had aged, and so had she.

“Oh come on, I thought we were friends.” Hope cooed, letting the glass cool her fingertips. The heat left small crescents close to the service. They dissolved as quickly as they appeared. “Besides, it isn’t up for much discussion.”

He clenched his teeth and thinned his expression into a tight one. His leathery skin was glossy under the low light of the magic shop and his lungs growled like a lion pacing it’s iron cage, shoes kicking around sour hay.

Jade picked up the nearest book, dust pulling from the pages. “Don’t touch that. What do you want?”

Though the words were directed towards the curious vampire, he never moved his ghostly stare from Hope. Her fingers twitched and he noticed entirely all too quickly. Hope Mikaelson had a temper like stained glass, just like her father. Intricate and beautiful but shatter prone.

“There’s been an unusual spike in magic lately. It’s buzzing around us even as we speak, Mr. Drew, I can feel it.” She was soft with her words but still moved her fingertips against her bare arms until they left little white lines from the pressure. “You can too.”

“It’s a magical city, girl. Of course, you can feel it.”

“This is different. This is darker- an uprising of sorts. And I want to trust that I’m not foolish enough for believing in the loyalty of your witches.” Hope leaned forward and the scent of old magic was replaced with cheap cologne and sweat, primal fear that Conrad Drew didn’t show well. “Am I foolish?”

The French Quarter witches had been rooted in New Orleans for centuries before they branched out into different covens. Hope had an unmovable fist around the throat of each of them- and that stemmed from the control of the company Conrad liked to keep. The ninth ward kept to themselves, kept their magic in check.

“If there’s strange magic it’s not from us. We’re not naive enough to practice right where your castle stands.”

Hope couldn’t’ tell if that eased her worry at all, or the strange electric feeling that danced across her skin in a dangerous tango. But she believed him, even in his annoyance and bubbling anger at her for crossing the boundaries they had drawn a long time ago.

He let out a sigh and pulled a yellowed jar from the shelf behind him, Hope couldn’t read the label, mottled with age. “You should try the Garden District.”

“The Garden District?” Jade had long ago abandoned her book, “Those hippie freaks don’t have it in them. Don’t they worship their regent like a God?”

“They’re unconventional, yes, but that doesn’t mean you can discount them.” He said.

Jade shrugged her shoulders dejectedly and wandered over to the far wall. She squinted at the contents in the mason jars, careful to shove her fingers in her pockets like she was in an art museum, gazing at pictures expertly painted, gold plaques carved with the words _DON’T TOUCH._

Hope had no such worry about the witches that dressed in white to get closer to the pure source of magic. They had been holed up in a large house on the west side of town since she herself was a child; her father let them be, let them simmer, and practice what they wanted with the respect and patience of a noble man. So she had done the same.

“Was that all, Miss Mikaelson?”

It had been. The early evening was bleeding into a desolate night filled with the sound of crickets and the wet summer air that made her want to peel her own skin off. An expertly crafted wooden sign indicated that the magic shop was closing its own doors and Hope was never one to linger after hours when a place lacked good liquor.

The door with the little bell and the burgundy paint flung open with enough force to crack the double-plated glass that protected it. Jade drew in a sharp breath and Hope felt the defensive bit of energy strike against her fingertips akin to a match.

A girl crashed to her knees and winced as they stung tearing against the aged wood. She was drenched in the pungent smell of sweat mixed with swamp water and mud, it left an even ring against the midsection of a pure white dress, something that had once been spotless but was now torn with the scent of blood and moss.

Hope exhaled because she decided that it was better than the opposite, perfectly content with the heir of magic instead of muck. This girl was captivating and a near stranger. Her blonde hair was stained similarly with mud and tears streaked down her cheeks. Eyes so pale they were almost gray. Mud darkened behind her nails and blood soaked close to her collar, not from a bite, but a tear, a simple slice in her skin that looked all too intentional.

Conrad moved across the shop wordlessly and flipped the large iron lock against the door “What in God’s name-“ 

“I need help,” She girl gulped out, her voice was broken, pained from screaming. “There are people after me and I didn’t know where else to go.”

“A hospital?” Jade suggested, blinking at the scene.

“No, no I couldn’t. That can’t help me not against them.”

Hope hesitated “Who did this to you?”

The girl’s breath slowed, no longer a jagged pant but something loose and unstable. She hugged herself close, still sitting against the floor and dripping mud that would be nearly impossible to scrub away. “I took something important from a group of witches. It was for the greater good, I swear it, but they don’t’ see it like that. They have a tracking spell on me and I figured— fuck if anyone was strong enough to counter it with a cloaking spell it would be”

“Me,” Conrad finished the sentence. “Whatever it is, I’ll need more power than I have. It was half-witted to show up here. One man can’t take down an entire coven.”

“What about yours?” She searched desperately.

“They’re indisposed. You can’t hide here, girl. I’m sorry, it’s not my fight.”

Hope rolled her eyes, staring the sad excuse for a regent down. He liked to protect his people, and the tribrid could admit to her own motives as well. But watching the girl, so small and unsure of herself, it pulled at her. Pulled at her the same way that it did with Jade in the 1800s and countless others that shared her disposition. She blamed her mother for her soft side.

“Have some pity, Drew. Where would the world be if we didn’t take mercy on anyone?”

“A hell of a lot safer, your daddy knew that.”

She ignored the comment and the mention of her father. Flames licked at her skin, and an acid taste pressed against the back of her throat but she swallowed it down, kneeling in front of the scared witch, so pulled into herself that she barely noticed another presence until now. Her beaten stare flashed in recognition, and fear, and something else entirely that Hope couldn’t read.

She whispered, soft “Now, I think you and I can make a deal.”

“I’ve heard stories about you.” The stranger swallowed the dirty taste on her tongue “I think I’d rather risk my luck in the quarter. I don’t need _your_ protection.”

Hope gave a wolfish grin, fighting back a bitter laugh. Even now, even crouched low coated in every kind of grime that the Louisiana swamps had to offer, she refused her. It made an odd bout of pride swell in Hope’s chest because the stories had lived on and so had her presence in this town seeping with the history of her family.

“You took something from a bloodletting frenzy of homicidal witches. Like hell, you need my protection.”

The girl gulped in the same air that Hope had when she first entered the small shop. She stared at her supposed savior, at Conrad Drew, and a stranger leaning close enough to the shelves to clear them entirely. She felt the hot floor against her knees and tasted the waters of the swamp she had waded through, and though it was slight, she could pick up on the magic of a woman entirely too patient to compete with the fairytales.

She conceded “What kind of deal?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is the new stuff! Hopefully, it's way better than the first chapter considering I wrote that one months ago. Let me know your thoughts!

**The Mikaelson compound** rested in the center of the French Quarter. It was dusted in an even limestone and came with large iron balconies that lead to the street below. One could smell the freshly baked pastries in the morning and hear the echoing sound of a trumpet player stationed at the corner of a busy intersection.

When she was younger, Lizzie Saltzman lived in a small house at the edge of the city. She remembers a large oak tree and a tire swing with a frayed rope that would burn the palms of her hands each time she clung to it, still demanding to go higher. It was painted in a dull eggshell and the grass stretched easily past her knees, unmowed and itchy.

That house could fit inside of this one; there was an atrium that stretched past two iron gates. A deadbolt clicked behind them as they entered, and moonlight moved against the dead leaves already collected in the stagnant fountain.

Lizzie couldn’t help but turn haplessly towards the fence and the two shadowed men who stood at its threshold. Neither of them batted an eye at the Mikaelson witch or her companions. Two staircases lead up to a second story where bedrooms and studies rested behind black mahogany doors.

She felt dirty compared to the innate class that the entire house carried. A thin layer of puff mud stained her stinging legs, and the white dress that was such a symbol of purity was adhered to her skin and encased in a swampy crust. Lizzie hugged herself close and tested her bare feet against the cobblestone floor, the bone blade in her grasp.

Hope stopped suddenly and turned to face her. Her eyes were deep cobalt and reflected the pale color of the moon like a stained mirror. “What coven do you come from, exactly?”

Lizzie darted her eyes around the compound, up at the open ceiling, and the furniture that was covered in dusty sheets stained with an odd brown color that she prayed wasn’t blood. She couldn’t’ smell it, only lavender and sage, and history; just like the magic shop.

“The Garden District” She winced because it hurt to talk, hurt to breathe. Her lungs pushed close to sore ribs and she could taste the dirt on her tongue. Part of her was amused at the look that crossed Hope’s face- but she couldn’t quite decipher it. “I thought the white would make it obvious.”

Jade scoffed and flopped down onto the dusty couch, unbothered by the tainted air “it’s more of a brown, sweetheart.” 

“The Garden district has been around for centuries, no? Much longer than the city itself, even longer than the conflict that swims through it.” Hope spoke casually.

“That’s right. They’re a calm people.”

“Which begs the question, why would they have a weapon such as that one to steal in the first place?”

Lizzie tightened her grasp against the smooth bone. It dug into her palm just like the rope swing had years ago. This time it didn’t sting but caused mild discomfort. Hope didn’t’ make a move to pry it from her fingers. Instead, she let the question hang in the air like a sword from a thin wire, ready to snap.

“Do you know Lucius Kane?” Lizzie asked in turn, and the tribrid shook her head, interest piqued “The Kane’s have been regents for the coven for centuries. Each of them is interested in magic bound with peace, but as the city grows more hostile, so did they. He’s the latest regent to take control, and he’s interested in upsetting the power.”

Hope glanced at the woman on the couch sparingly, almost with an ounce of fear. But whatever apprehension that was there soon washed away to curiosity. “How does he intend to obtain this power imbalance?”

“With dark objects, like this one,” She was quiet with her words “he needs twelve of them to break the lock that ties him to the ancestors who regulate his magic. He needs a certain type of witch to pull the magic from the objects and then channel it into the spell.” 

She mulled over the information for a moment, staring at nothing but the broken floor and the few leaves that moved across it. Lizzie felt her own toes curl around the stones, her thumb running close to the blade. It never drew a drop of crimson against soft skin.

“I’ll protect you,” Hope finally said before turning towards the stairs and beckoning for Lizzie to follow, she scrambled and frowned against the cold of the stone “But not without cost.”

“You said that in the magic shop too, I don’t know what that _means_ ”

Lizzie struggled to follow Hope up the set of stairs. She felt like she was hobbling on a set of cinderblocks that dragged her down to the bottom of the very swamps she had waded through the retrieve the wooden box with the dagger. Hope stopped at the highest step and stared down at her. 

“Do you know what a familiar is, Lizzie?”

She hesitated “Like a pet? An owl or something.”

Hope laughed and it was an angelic sound despite her devilish ways “For witches, perhaps. But that’s not the only thing that I am. For vampires, a familiar is somewhat of an asset.”

“An asset, how?”

She squinted her eyes and walked around the corner of the first landing, Lizzie rushed to keep up but was thankful when the rough stone melted away to soft carpet. She made her way past a few storm doors and a couple of rooms that opened out to the street.

“In uncertain terms?”

“Try to use certain ones.”

Hope stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. She twisted the aged iron knob and opened it to a shockingly warm room. There was a four-post mahogany bed neatly made up with a royal red duvet accented in gold. There was a desk and another door leading to a small bathroom. She nodded before turning to face her once more.

“The short version of it all would be that I own you.” Hope crossed her arms over her chest and Lizzie let her jaw snap shut as if not to catch flies. “Of course, I don’t do things traditionally like my father and his before that. We would perform a spell and your magic would be at my disposition in exchange for protection against your Lucius and whatever evil intent he has in store.”

She hesitated “That’s it, then? You take control of my magic and then I’m safe?”

“Not exactly, you stick by me at all times. Do what I ask of you. You'll be bound to me physically and somewhat mentally, but yes, you’ll be safe.”

“I’m not a traditional witch, you do know that, don’t you?”

“I figured when you broke free of your coven and dug through the swamps until you found what you were looking for. But I like that in a familiar.” She clenched her jaw and stared at Lizzie “Shower, take an evening to figure out what you want. We can discuss this more in the morning.”

Lizzie nodded, her mouth was dry and her throat was on fire, and the only thing she wanted right now was the ease the tightness of her skin. Hope passed and stood in the hallway, lingering for one moment as she mulled over her thoughts, her fingers wrapped around the doorknob, threatening to close and lock the lugging door.

“It’s a good thing that you have that blade, but if you ever try to use it I won't hesitate to kill you." 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen... I have a plan for this. Is it a good plan? No, absolutely not. But I'm here to ruin lives with some angst so I'm going all out.

**Lizzie Saltzman had** a large bruise stretching across the bulk of her chest. It looked like an intricate maze of subtle violets and a darker, meaner, type of black that chased after the color with a vengeance. She remembers the sound of her stomach hitting the ground when she jumped from the second-story window to the soft grass below.

Even more, she recalls the way that her breath left her entirely for a moment. There wasn’t’ much pain, not then. It was a dull ache and then she scrambled to pull in any type of oxygen before gathering her bearings and running into the nearby thicket of trees. It only took a few moments for them to realize she was gone- and by then, she had gotten far enough for them to actively search.

She grimaced and closed the last three buttons of the light blue cotton shirt that was left in the closet among other clothing. She had never worn such color, but it was the closest thing to the pure white that she was used to. This made her eyes pop with cobalt, and more importantly, it covered up the liaisons from her rebellion the night before.

Hope Mikaelson had let her sleep.

It was a small mercy that she hadn’t expected from the all-powerful tribrid that the city feared. Her own coven _(ex-coven)_ used to gather around the common room and tell dark stories about the balance of power that had all been disrupted by a single child. One holding more chaos in her fingertips than the world had ever seen, much less New Orleans.

Lizzie slowly gathered herself before she creaked the door open and breathed in the fresh summer heat. Sun streamed through the large atrium and it was neater than it had been the previous night. Even from the second story, she could see the two men standing by the front door. The furniture had been uncovered and a small iron table sat at the far end of the courtyard, draped in a white cloth and teaming with freshly baked beignets coated in powdered sugar. 

She recognized two of the women- Hope and Jade, speaking softly over steaming cups of coffee. But the third was new to her; her features were slender and her face was kind, yet curious. Black hair was tied up in a loose bun and even from here, Lizzie could feel her power. Each witch had a distinct tingle in her fingertips and this one shot energy straight to her chest.

“You must be starving,” Hope shouted up, flicking those unripe eyes up to the balcony where Lizzie stood, her breath caught. “Don’t be shy.”

She made her way down to the courtyard wordlessly and sat at the small seat that was open. Jade gulped down a heaping of steaming coffee and moved her attention to her phone, Hope poured her a cup of her own- and Lizzie suddenly felt like she was the new kid in school. She had never been to anything other than the teachings of her coven- but that familiar feeling of freshness filled her.

“Lizzie, I want you to meet Davina Claire. She’s one of the most powerful witches in New Orleans.” Hope said, biting into one of the flakey pastries without much effort, somehow not spilling a single crumb.

Davina lifted an eyebrow, unfazed by the flattery “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I can feel you.”

“I’ll bet you can.” She turned her full attention to Hope then, her red painted nails traced the white mug in front of her. “Hope, do you know what kind of witch you stumbled upon here?”

Instead of answering the question, Hope’s eyes moved to Lizzie. She scanned her over the rim of her glass, almost as if Lizzie was holding up a flashcard and mouthing the answer to her. It brought some heat to her cheeks that seemed to move from her core, so she averted her attention and looked at the table cloth.

“She’s a siphon. It’s rare and far between that New Orleans sees a witch like this. They’re from further north and often bury themselves in their own tragic history. She needs to have a nearby source of magic in order to use her own, but when she does, it’s a force to be reckoned with, isn’t that right?”

“I need to be touching something with power, yes.” Lizzie’s eyes hardened “We lived in Maryland until my family disbanded from its own coven and found the Garden District. They don’t like it when we use our abilities.”

Hope used her thumb to wipe a small bit of powdered sugar from the corner of her lip. There was a storm brewing behind those darkened eyes. Lizzie thought that maybe this was her tell, you knew when she was contemplating something big. Jade lifted her stare from the screen of her phone at the notion and turned it, screen down, on the table.

“No matter, if Lizzie has truly contemplated my offer then something like that shouldn’t change the circumstances. Especially with that blade of yours.” Hope paused for a moment “have you thought about it?”

The truth in the matter was that Lizzie had; while the steaming water dripped against the stark white of the shower. She hated the color now, more than anything, and the black mud that collected at the drain filled her with solace. But then she stepped back into the chilled room, ran her fingers over the goosebumps, and realized dejectedly that Hope Mikaelson was her only salvation.

They both knew it, sitting here in the center of a courtyard, she had never felt safer and in more detriment than now. “I’ll do it.”

“Fantastic, that makes the drive well worth it. We can go to Lafayette at high noon and preform the binding spell.” Davina stood from her seat and the metal creaked against the cobblestones. Lizzie was the only one to cringe at the sound. “I’ll meet you there at high noon. But until then, I’ll be in my room. Jet lag is a bitch.”

Hope thanked her and took another gulp of her coffee before pulling a cloth napkin from her lap and laying it nicely over the half-devoured beignet before standing herself. She hadn’t a crumb of the meal on her. “Right, well, we have a lot to do today.”

“Miles needs my help with the shipment at the bar. Do you mind if I meet you later? I wouldn’t’ want to miss the ritual.” There was a bit of a bite to her words that Lizzie chose to ignore, her focus flicking between the two, their conversation flowing naturally.

“Take your time, I have to visit Sophie. I’m sure she has what we’ll need.”

Jade nodded, her stare flicking to Lizzie, curious, but pitying. The two men that guarded the blue aged gates stepped aside and the blinding light flooded the atrium before closing off again. She had lost her appetite once more and even the mere thought of consuming one of the items on the table made the back of her jaw tighten.

She had not once been left alone with Hope, and though there were others in the room, she felt like it was only the two of them. She felt her pulse quicken and spread through her body like the little science experiments they used to do on the kitchen floor of the house.

Josie would fill a paper plate with water from the tap and then sprinkle the thinnest layer of pepper over its surface. One little drop of dish soap and the black would scatter to the sides of the plate. Lizzie wondered if Hope could notice the seasoning that flooded her blood and stuck to the sides of her heart.

“Don’t be so nervous, darling, if I wanted you dead it would have been done by now.” She said, voice as light as the air around them. “Your pulse is deafening. Now, come along.”

Lizzie swallowed back the dry taste in her mouth and got to her feet. She followed a few paces behind Hope, who took large steps and walked easily into the busy New Orleans streets. She could feel the anxiety bubble even more; someone had to notice the two of them.

It was fairly obvious who Hope was, and even though Lizzie had scrubbed the mud from her skin until it was raw and loud, it didn’t mean she was in the clear. Part of her had reasoned with making a deal with the devil in order to avoid the latest fallen angel- but as they walked under the shaded awnings and the stone streets, all she saw was day drunk tourists too sunburned for their own good.

“Where are we going?” Lizzie asked.

“The ninth ward, there’s a magic shop there that has pretty reasonable prices. Conrad Drew is more than reluctant to help us with this- you saw that last night.” She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and glanced towards her “How did you know to go there?”

Lizzie frowned, stepping over a small muddied puddle at the edge of the side street they had turned down. There was less noise here, fewer people too. The nearby buildings shielding them from the sun and a biting chill filled the air.

“We learned about the regents, and he was the closest to the swamps, I suppose. He sounded like the kindest too.” She paused and contemplated “Lucius had a tight hold on what we knew and what we didn’t’. He painted a picture of you too,”

“Oh, he did?”

Lizzie hummed solemnly “It was mostly red.”

 **Jade had counted** the crumpled up bills three times over. Each one felt sticky and she tried not to think about what mix of alcohol had made them that way. Instead, she separated them into little piles against the counter.

Most of the light had been filtered from Rousseau’s by dark curtains. The floors had been pitifully swept and part of the night crew hung around for their tips while others enjoyed the pull of nicotine on the back porch. Miles stood with his arms crossed, watching Jade’s every move.

“The hovering isn’t helping”

“Sorry,” he rushed to apologize and averted his stare but made no move to leave “Jonah has been taking way more than his share lately and I have a very high lifestyle to maintain, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.”

Jade couldn’t’ help but feel pity for the kid. He had told stories about coming here for spring break two years ago and never getting a chance to leave. He worked long hours and slept on the couch in the back office most of the time. She had thrown in the last extra dollar and handed him the stack before locking the rest in the bottom cabinet for the next night.

He thanked her and wandered into the back room to search for his coat. She had no qualms sitting in the dark bar and serving a few tourists who needed to get out of the sun and into the cooling warmth of the day. It was always slow in the mornings.

She had played on her phone for nearly half an hour before the front door opened and drew her attention away from the dull glow of a few messages from employees informing her of shift changes.

A girl, shaded by the starkness of the establishment, wordlessly walked across the floors and slid into the seat at the very end of the bar. Jade tried not to watch her, but it was nearly impossible. She looked nervous, rubbing her palms together. Her brown hair was messy with curls and a blindingly white midi dress hugged her sides. Her eyes were familiar but riddled with more sadness and concern than Jade had seen before.

“What can I get for you?” She asked. This girl wasn’t twenty-one, anyone with eyes could see that, but from the sorrow, Jade figured she could use a drink.

“I’m not sure;” She paused for a moment and scanned the back shelf of bottles “What’s your favorite?”

She knew that the girl’s words spelled out her legal age like a poorly written book. But still, Jade grabbed a half-emptied bottle of cheap Denizen rum. She filled the clear glass with more generic brand cola than she did alcohol to mask the musky taste before setting it on a folded black napkin. 

“How old are you claiming to be, exactly?” Jade asked, leaning against the back counter.

She didn’t’ have anything better to do- and could admit to herself when her interest was piqued. This stranger didn’t’ dress like the usual customer; there was no dull flannel or obnoxious flower print shirt to boot. In fact- the pure white attire sparked something in her.

“Twenty-one,” The girl flushed.

“Don’t’ worry, your secret is safe with me.”

She nodded and stared down at the drink before taking a tiny sip. Her eyes watered but she hid it well. “I’ve actually stopped by to ask you a question.”

She started to search the pockets of the dress that Jade hadn’t noticed before. A small polaroid was slid across the counter. It had been folded and then unfolded so many times that little white trees creased down the middle both ways. Even then, Jade could see the image of a happy family smiling towards the camera.

There was a man with his hair combed back, and a woman hugging his side. Next to them was the girl that sat in front of her now, eyes blank and grin wide enough to split her cheeks open entirely. Lizzie had her arm snaked around her- the only one not beaming. Instead, her eyes glowed a deep red at the lens, catching the flash.

“I’m looking for my sister. She’s run away from home. We’re all very worried about her.”

Jade picked up the polaroid and frowned at it “Have you called the police?”

It was a deep question, but Jade knew exactly what she was doing. Witches had no need to phone the local law enforcement, they wouldn’t come. Lizzie was a legal adult, that much was clear, and the only thing it would do is feed into rumors of voodoo and dark magic.

“No, we haven’t. Lizzie has always been… she has these episodes and sometimes it’s easier to search for her than to involve other people. Usually, my family lets her simmer, and eventually, she cools off. But she took something that doesn’t’ belong to her.” The girl stood from the barstool before refusing the photo as Jade reached out to hand it back. “No, you can keep it. My number is on the back of it. Will you keep an eye out for her? Ask if people have seen her around?”

“Yeah, sure thing” She flipped it, looking at the scrawled number under the neatly printed name _Josie._ “Good luck.”

Jade glanced back up and was met with an empty and unwavering bar, the sounds of the city hissing from a busy street, and a small captured moment in time, just as staged as any professional photograph pretending to be something it's not. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... are we positive that we didn't read the Myan Calendars wrong and 2020 was supposed to be the end of the world?

**Hope’s eyes sparkled** like a blue ember that hadn’t yet been exposed to the cool air of the dark mausoleum. Off-white candles were slowly lighting up the small space, and her own stare found solace in the little edge of sun that still seeped through the carved entrance. Davina Claire struck another match and the scent of sulfur filled the air.

She and Hope held easy conversation as if they were discussing the weather or the way that the wax from the candles had dripped and splattered onto a packed dirt floor. And overall, Lizzie felt uncomfortable; with the long silver blade and the little table in the middle of the room covered in a violet sheet. There was a bowl and a small aged paper scripted with a spell. She didn’t’ dare to read it, instead, she stayed complacent in her little dark corner, wondering who would be buried here if it wasn’t used for this.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jade stepped through the threshold and crinkled her nose at the scent. Her cheeks were reddened and she struggled to shove her car keys into her pocket “I had to deal with something less than ideal.”

Hope stood from her crouch and set her own box of matches on the closest perch “Care to elaborate?”

“Your sister is searching for you. Your whole coven is. That thing that you took really has everyone up in arms.” Jade’s eyes flicked towards Hope with an uneven bout of bravery “I pray she’s worth it.”

“You were.” Without missing a beat, or playing into the newfound tension, Hope continued “Now, it’s almost high noon. I think we should get started unless you’re having cold feet.”

It took Lizzie a moment to reel in the conversation before she realized that Hope was addressing her, and even then, she couldn’t muster up any sound. So she nodded and watched as Jade let her defenses slowly fizzle out.

She had known that her family would come looking for her, that was a given. They always did- but this time their eyes were locked on the power surge they were trying to supply their mighty regent with. Lizzie had tried, and tried hard, to do this the easy way.

She had purchased two bus tickets to Alabama and pleaded with her sister for hours. But Josie was blind and there was nothing Lizzie could do to get her to see. So, she gave that up, ripped the tickets, and vowed to stay on course. Even though that course had a giant roadblock in the shape of a tribrid in it.

Davina clapped her hands with a smile on her face, charged with the thought of a ritual this size. She directed the two of them to stand across from one another, the table situated like a magazine at a middle school dance.

“Alright, Lizzie, I need you to pick up the blade.”

She did as she was told. It was weighted and cold in her hand. She tested its hold with the edge of her thumb. There was an intricate carving of a dragon, it’s set eye glowing in a ruby that caught every candle in the stone prison.

“Hope, give her your hand, and let her cut you.”

There was no hesitation, and Lizzie was shocked at the amount of warmth that radiated from the girl. A slight surge of energy that was unmatched shot to her elbow. Wolves ran naturally warm but this was different- this was like lava traveling through her veins until it hardened into rock at her fingertips. Lizzie flinched at the card of red that pooled in Hope’s palm at the slight push of a blade.

Davina instructed Hope to turn her palm towards the bowl. A sizable amount of blood dripped into the base before the cut healed. “Hope, do the same to Lizzie.”

Lizzie wouldn’t heal like Hope, and the edge stung. She watched as the crimson bubbled and she tipped her own essence into the basin. She let her hand fall to her side, ignoring the way that liquid dripped from her fingers, too entranced by Davina taking a deep breath in and holding her own palm over the bowl before sliding the knife against it.

“Now, link hands and repeat after me.” Again, Lizzie found herself with her fingers against Hope’s, like an x, over the bowl. _“Adiuro strigam esse, Et nota eius”_

Both of them spoke the words, breath mingling.

_“sub lumine solis meridian, Ad serve, qui defendat, ut pro”_

Lizzie could feel the wind pick up around them, something hot like that of the bayou. The metallic scent of the blood against her fingers and that slowly building in the bowl beneath them bit at her throat. And that warmth, that undeniable warmth was starting to spread like wildfire. It could keep anyone sated on a cold night and made her stomach boil on a hot one.

_“Usque ad mortem, et non intulit in alium”_

And the wind stopped, the candles suddenly dusty and void of any heat. Her fingers were still clenching desperately onto Hope’s and Davina looked at the two of them with expectancy. “Good, now drink.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Lizzie asked.

Jade snorted “Just a few sips, enough to coat your tongue, don’t be a baby.”

Lizzie frowned and took the basin before moving it to her lips. It smelt like a pocket change and balsam. It was warm, moving down her throat and reminded her of the first time she snuck out with some of the girls in her coven with the smallest amount of weed they could cultivate. She choked then too.

She swallowed back the molten metal taste in her mouth before shaking her head and shoving the bowl forward again. Hope took it, eyeing the bubbling black liquid and gulping down the other half of it like it was a soda at a diner, and not blood.

“Alright, it’s done.” Davina grasped the blade, and started to pick up a few of the candles “You may now kiss the bride, or familiar, or whatever.”

Hope scoffed and shook her head. Lizzie scanned her own thoughts for the feeling of unrest; she couldn’t find any. Other than the envelope of warmth against her glossy skin. There was no edged binding like a linking spell, and part of her knew that if Hope felt pain, she wouldn’t be there with her. It wasn’t like that, not like the practice incantations they would use.

She was tired and her stomach kind of hurt, but that was her own pension for not being able to consume blood- especially that of a tribrid.

 **Hope pulled the** glass blown lid from the whiskey canister before coating the bottom of a matching cup with the buttery liquid. She poured another and handed it off to Jade, situated on the leather sofa in the corner of the study. She flopped down on the other end and let out a long breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Thanks. Her sister, Josie, is something else.”

She was tired too, her whole body ached like a cold winter night and the dull light that bounced against the archaic bookshelves and finished paintings threatened to give her a headache. Hope tipped the glass back and took in half the drink.

“Do looks run in the family, then?”

Jade hesitated “They do. They have the same eyes, but… different somehow. Lizzie’s sister, she looks right through you.”

“Compulsion?”

“No, this was different. She was conscious of what she was saying, why she was in the bar, to begin with. Her eyes were glossed over, in nearly a calculated way.” Jade took a small sip of whiskey “She wanted to be there, even if it wasn’t her idea.”

The more Hope heard, the more she wanted to drink: she had known of powerful witches before, of the way they could manipulate a group of humans but never their own kind. Lucius could be a charismatic leader, but so was Manson, at the end of the day.

“Besides, Lizzie must have seen some shit. I walked by her room earlier, she has that blade clenched like a vice.” Jade clenched her jaw and leaned forward to set the glass down on the mahogany table. “Even with your safety behind her.”

Hope nodded, her stare focusing on the double set of French doors that led to the landing. A few more paces and she would be at Lizzie’s room. Part of her felt that innate pull of protection, but that was normal with the spell that they had performed earlier before driving Davina to the airport, the other was dark and confused, and longing.

Jade had been young, nothing but a child when Hope took her under her wing. Exhausted and covered in ash, tears streaking against her cheeks. Lizzie was different- older and headstrong and not someone who needed to be raised but someone who needed to be broken from her upbringing.

Hope found herself standing from the sofa, setting her empty glass down next to Jade’s full one. She was never much of a drinker despite spending most of her free time mixing up beverages. There was no question in Hope’s movements; not as she stepped onto the landing and breathed in the scent of New Orleans, not even as she took her calculated direction towards Lizzie’s room.

The mahogany door was cracked, just like the one who led to the balcony. Each time the wind pulled, it creaked open further. She had fallen asleep in her day clothes and was frowning at her dreams. Lizzie’s fingers were wrapped around the bone of the blade- the only blade strong enough to wound Hope. 

She took a small venture into the room and was careful with how leaden her boots were against the wood floor. Hope closed the French doors, thus engulfing them in silence. The muffled tune of a trumpet player was still picked up, but only if she listened hard enough. Lizzie whimpered in her sleep, and Hope turned towards her, eyebrow raised in curiosity, or maybe even pity.

There was a slight increase in her heartbeat, loud like a drum before Hope found herself with her back against the soft bedding. The bone of the blade against her throat as Lizzie barely stirred from sleep, held her there, blonde hair falling into her features.

Reflected in her chalk eyes was pain and confusion, and then they glossed over to realization as her mind caught up with her actions. It gave Hope a fraction of a second, but it was all she needed to flip the script.

She straddled Lizzie, pinning her arms above her head. She didn’t dare try to wrestle the weapon from the girl- because that was a clear part of their deal. It was hers, even if it had been used against her so blatantly. Lizzie panted under her- stare frantic.

“Fuck,” She said through a whisper, Hope’s breath hummed against her collarbone. “I-“

“It’s okay, just breathe. You were having a nightmare.”

“I could have killed you.”

“Quite frankly I’m offended that you’d think it would be that easy.” Hope moved back, placing her feet on the ground. Lizzie propped herself up on her elbows and studied her. The even cut on the palm of her hand had stung fiercely in the struggle, reopening.

There was a heavy silence in the room and Hope didn’t speak again until Lizzie’s pulse wasn’t as deafening.

“What did you see?” She asked.

Lizzie swallowed thickly, her mouth dry and her stomach churning. She ran her thumb over the ribbed edge of the blade and sat up completely, crossing her legs and staring at the woman in front of her.

“Last summer, we had a celebration for the fourth of July. The Kane’s were famous for ignoring every single holiday that presented itself- but something about the summer season captivates them. It was no different for Lucian and he would throw this huge cookout with hamburgers, and hotdogs, and water balloon fights. It was the closest thing to a real-life that any of us would ever get, and every moment of it was on his terms.

He would give this huge speech at the end of the evening, right before the town set off the fireworks- and every single word was double-edged. This year he spoke of devotion, and it was where he talked about his plan, but not all of it, because he’s not a foolish man, mind you. And I went along with it, because of the sun, and the happiness, and the overwhelming sense of unity.

But in my dream I… I started to wake up, I guess, is the best way to describe it. Dread was creeping in and I saw that hollow look in my father’s eyes, and then my mothers, and when I thought that all hope was lost and that Josie would be able to fight it like me, she couldn’t’. She was gone too.”

Hope had moved to sitting on the corner of the bed, watching Lizzie as she struggled to get through the sleepy haze of the dream. But the vacantness that she spoke of hit the base of Hope’s spine like an ice pick.

“I’ve stopped it for now,” Lizzie continued, voice small “But as long as Lucian finds the other artifacts, we’re all doomed. He’ll have enough power to rip this one away from me.”

Hope frowned and then hesitated in her words “Maybe we shouldn’t hide the fact that you have it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can walk right into the lion’s den. Show your regent that you’re not some scared witch that’s nothing more than a missing pawn to him.”

“If I show up there, then I’m not leaving. He’d rather lock me away in the wine cellar and bar up the windows before let me out of his sight again.”

Hope gave her a dark smile, one that was oddly comforting, and not at all like that of an angel with severed wings. “Yeah, but this time you won’t be alone. I think it’s high time my family gives the Garden District a proper hello.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus, work has been kicking my ass. Anyway, let me know what you guys think!

_Fall 2007_

**Her legs burned** like a frayed rope had been bound so tight around her ankles that they lost circulation. Lizzie had read stories of people like her being prosecuted and tied to long wooden crosses hammered into soft dirt. Sitting here in this car- she convinced herself that she smelt the thick edge of gasoline soaking into her nightgown until warmth so unbearable consumed her. Melted her into the ground.

Josie’s fingers tightened against her t-shirt and she frowned in her sleep as if Lizzie’s own discomfort had wormed its way into her sisters’ dreams. They had been driving for nearly eight hours now and the only pit stop was made at Virginia’s border and a small peach stand that veered from a dirt road. Her father asked for directions and kindly declined the small round fruit even though all of their stomachs rolled in emptiness.

It was dusk by the time that they reached New Orleans but the city was still fresh with life. The reflection of gold shimmered against the canal and Lizzie pressed herself closer to the window to get a glimpse of the water through the gaps in factories long abandoned. She had never seen water like this.

“Take your next left,” Caroline said from the front seat, she had been struggling to read the map from the staggered street lights, eventually giving up and using the light of the flip phone they had purchased at a gas station a few miles from home. They used cash.

Lizzie wasn’t daft, even at her age. She could tell that her parents were trying to swallow their fear, but she couldn’t tell from what. Her father had told them both that they were going on a small adventure, but she figured that any adventure that made her wake up and leave everything behind at four am wasn’t one she was fond of.

But she could decipher that neither of them wanted to talk about it, or anything, for that matter. The whole ride was silent other than an occasional direction on which exit to take. Josie caught on too, reading through the same book she always did when she was seeking comfort. An old and worn copy of Edgar Allen Poes short stories and poems. 

They pulled off onto a street lined with large willow trees before her father shut off the headlights and plunged them into darkness. It took a few moments for Lizzie’s eyes to adjust to the milky darkness but once they did she was quick to notice the large Victorian homes, each lined the water of a canal, and part of her wanted to roll the window down to let the cool air push against her cheeks.

Alaric stopped at a looming white home at the end of the street. Two trees rested beyond in iron fence that none of the other houses had. There was a blood-red brick walkway leading up to the double doors. The porch lamp flicked on and Lizzie breathed in so quickly that it burned her lungs.

“You three stay here, I’ll be back,” Alaric spoke smoothly, though they could all pick up on his apprehension. The engine purred like a small animal and all three of them watched as he spoke to a man that opened the door.

“Who is that man?” Josie asked.

“That’s Mr. Kane, Sweetie. He’s going to help us.”

Lizzie wasn’t aware that they needed help, to begin with.

_Present Day_

**In the waning** daylight, the house looked like the drawn image on a postcard. Lush green grass was freshly mowed at a small bench was situated under one of the large willow trees in the yard. Lizzie could see the kids swinging on the tire swing, gripping close to a rope. Josie flipped through a book, her back close to the base of the tree.

Each of them was dressed in pure white, not caring much for the dirt that might stain the fabric. It was picturesque and they were in their own worlds between instruction times. Even from the car parked a couple of spaces down, Lizzie ached for the simple times. The times where she wasn’t harboring a knife and linked to an all-powerful being. 

“It looks kind of nice.” Jade pushed her head through the two seats, craning in order to get a better look at the house. “In that creepy too perfect way.”

“It’s all a lie.” Lizzie stared forward at the small lake of heat that formed past the old cars and the sprinklers that sprayed too far into the street. It looked silver and soupy. “One of the first things Lucius’s father made us do was clean up and take family photos. He hung them up on the wall next to the other people he had saved.”

Lizzie remembers how much her bones ached and the fact that she smelled like sweat and energy drinks. They had a separate room in the corner of the house and all of them were handed white shirts that smelled of freshly picked cotton. They took over fifty photos in front of a marbled blue backdrop before he was satisfied and they were lead to bed. Her parent stayed and talked around an ordinary kitchen table downstairs.

She was dressed in black now, a color she hadn’t worn since she was seven. She had exhausted all of the pastels that Hope kept around the castle that she called home. All of the “Church clothes” Jade called them.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Hope asked cautiously.

“I’m going to have to be. Lucius won’t lay a hand on me as long as I know where the artifact is and he doesn’t.” She breathed out shakily. “I’m leverage. I’m sure he’ll be nothing but kind to the queen of New Orleans.”

The big bad wolf; the statement rested at the back of her mind like venom. The stories that they used to wind swirled around the flames of nightly bonfires. Lizzie steeled her nerve for a moment and stepped out of the car, the wolf and the vampire following her lead, watching her closely.

Josie looked up as they approached the fence.

Her stare flashed from confusion to happiness in one moment. An empty smile moved against her lips. She closed her book, leaving it under the shade of the tree before moving to the locked iron fence. It stopped at her waist.

“Lizzie, wow, you look-“She let out a breath, dragging her eyes over the simple pair of jeans and pitch blouse “White suits you better.”

The large red door of the house was pushed open then, a familiar creak filling the air. Lizzie clenched her jaw and Hope moved slightly in front of her, shoulders even as a man who looked more like a car salesman finding nirvana than a regent, stepped onto the brick walkway.

His eyes were so gray they were ghostly, black hair sticking to his forehead with newly beading sweat. He was tall and his skin was tanned from days in the sun. He allowed himself cobalt jeans and a button-down white shirt.

“Elizabeth,” he held his hands out like a welcoming messiah, his smile refused to falter “And you’re Hope Mikaelson. Now, what is the daughter of the reigning king of New Orleans doing with a Garden District witch?” 

Josie’s expression was back to confusion, her stare trained on Hope. She wore sunglasses and kept her jaw steady, not at all deterred by the way Lucius spoke, how he carried himself. It was unsettling but welcoming all at once. She had never dealt with a man such as this one.

“Where are my manners, you’re all welcome on the compound.”

The metal gate creaked open and Lizzie could taste blood. She was protected, more than that, with Hope by her side and Jade on the other. She feared them, but not more than her own family. Hope took the invitation first and joined Lucius on his walk back into the large house. The two of them spoke as if they were discussing the scores in a football game.

“Your father left my people to their own devices. I had the pleasure of meeting him once or twice over the years. He was a kind man.” Lucius spoke evenly, his Southern twang leaked like freshly cultivated honey, stirred in a black pot.

“He was stern where it counted, yes.” She frowned, allowing him to lead Lizzie and herself into the home. Jade stood by the front door, eyeing the threshold for a moment before glancing back at Josie.

The girl waited by the gate, locking it behind them before watching them. Her expression was mild and those eyes poured into the vampire, like something she had never experienced before. “I think I’ll catch up with you later.” She mumbled, taking a daring step back towards the girl.

Hope allowed this, her attention on the regent in front of her. He had kind eyes and a calm demeanor despite the two of them being back here. Lizzie wavered by her side, smelling of fear and lavender.

The inside of the house as large and nicer than the exterior; it’s floors a glossed marble and staircases ivory. She could hear the commotion upstairs, families reciting spells, and girls pressing their faces through the banisters to get a better look at the intruders. The door closed behind them and with it went the sunlight.

“I would love to learn more about life here,” Hope said.

“Lizzie hasn’t told you?”

“Not much.”

“Oh, we taught her better than that, isn’t that right, Elizabeth?”

She kept her jaw stone as if it were wired shut. There was a rush of fear that was quelled by her own teeth biting into her tongue. There was a time, less than a week ago, that she would answer him. That she would feel the sharp sting of an open palm if she didn’t’.

He watched her for a moment, with gray and probing eyes, before clearing his throat and returning his attention back to Hope. “Right, well, I’d be happy to run through our mission statement in my study. I’m sure Elizabeth has a few things she wants to grab from her room.”

Hope looked towards her then, eyebrows lifted in question, and Lizzie nodded. She decided that she could handle herself for a few moments. She watched as Hope followed Lucius again, her hands shoved into her pockets and their voices echoing down the halls. Lizzie stood, rooted her spot as she counted the black diamonds that interrupted the white.

Her stare moved to the set of four girls who whispered like little mice, fingers wrapped around the railings as they stared. They looked so pale and shaken, pops of color were tucked behind her ear, the stems of poppies from outside were tucked within their hair.

The floor creaked as another girl stepped onto the landing. “Don’t you all have chapters to read?”

They scattered then, pulling away from the railings and moving down the long hallways to their room, no doubt, to speak further about the witch in black that had come in with the wolf. Lizzie found herself grateful, but not smiling.

“Thank you,” She said, looking up at the one who had come to her rescue.

Penelope Park nodded curtly and Lizzie climbed the stairs. The further she went the less her hands shook but she still shoved them deep into her pockets because her old roommate noticed every single thing about her.

They had spent years building up a pent up hate towards one another; drawing lines with masking tape to create separate sides of the room, and purposely crossing them just to the bother the other. Penelope had seen her slip from their open window. But she hadn’t said a word.

“Don’t listen to Jo Jo, Black is absolutely your color.” She said, her voice raspy. Penelope decided then that they weren’t safe in the hallway. She turned and walked towards the room that they shared. Lizzie followed and closed the door behind them.

She plopped down on her bed and folded her legs under her “I was hoping that you got far away from this place. That you ran until you got all the way to Canada or something.”

Lizzie swallowed the acid taste in her mouth "he would have found me no matter what." 

She nodded and then sighed “Your parents were sent on a mission trip soon after you left. He’s been spending a lot of time with Josie. He pulls her into his study and I don’t know what they do in there, but it makes her distant and foggy. I think he’s afraid that she’ll leave him too.”

Lizzie could feel her nails dig small crescents into her palm. He was isolating her, manipulating her. And she felt selfish for not thinking about her family at that moment when her bare feet hit the cold wet grass.

Penelope stood from the bed and walked over to their shared bookshelf. There were vintage copies of through the looking glass, and an old Edgar Allen Poe collection that they took turns reading. She pushed these aside and reached her hand towards the edge until she felt a small velvet ribbon before pulling.

“What are you doing?” Lizzie asked.

“Helping you. When my mother left me here they took everything from me. My phone, my journal, everything.” She pulled out a light leather-bound book, its pages worn and stained. “I snuck into his study and stole the grimoire that has been in my family for centuries. He collects them like trophies”

Lizzie took the book from her outstretched hand and ran her fingers over the intricate Celtic carvings. “I can’t accept this,”

“You can and you will, Lizzie. I’ve been going into the study, reading the spells that he doesn’t want us to see.” Her voice was quiet and desperate “We’re more powerful than growing flowers and summoning rain. The last seven pages are what count.”

She nodded frantically, shoving the book under her shirt and into her waistband. It was cold against her stomach to the point of a subtle burn. “Thank you, Penelope.”

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Josie, she deserves to be free of all of this, and if you’re the one that can help get her there-“

“I will.” Lizzie responded, voice sullen “I will.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally added another chapter, so think of this as a bonus, because it wasn't supposed to be here! anyway... wash your hands, wear a mask, and stop being dicks to healthcare professionals WE'RE TRYING OK.

**There were two** things Hope Mikaelson knew about Lucius Kane’s study: the first being the array of leather-bound books placed neatly on the shelf, some a pitch-black and others such a worn brown they were almost the shade of blood that had been too exposed to the evening air, were not his. There was a metal lock on the cabinets, and a pane of glass proudly boasting his trophies. She could smell the magic and decay trapped behind the clear sheets and it made her ache.

The second thing she knew, with quite a blatant certainty, was that anyone who had a life-sized oil painting of themselves hanging above a paper-covered desk was a tool.

An artist, their name covered by a brass frame, had captured the condescending smile and twinkle to his eyes. She got the impression that he could lead a fish out of water before standing to the side and watching its gills flex in search of relief that he would never supply.

“You said that my father was a kind man,” She spoke as soon as he had closed the intricate French doors behind them. It silenced the world around them. “Niklaus Mikaelson was many things but kind was not one of them.”

Hope turned to face him then, standing like a meek child by his desk and the painting of him. He was paler in person but also taller and more sure of himself. He was mulling over his words as if she wouldn’t be easily swayed.

“I was ten years old in 1974. The worlds traveling state fair had just made its stop in New Orleans, right by the bay.” His words were infused with southern charm, compelling “I had never seen such a sight in my entire decade on this green earth.”

Hope remembers the fair well; too well for someone of her age. The sickeningly sweet scent of cotton candy and popped corn coated in caramel, how rides reflected their glow from the murky waters and carnies yelled with their chests instead of their voices, just daring someone to pick up a weighted metal ring.

She also remembers her father being there for business and the way the carnival music masked the sound of curled screams and blood soaking into the soft ground like the very spikes that held the large stifled tent in place. 

“He reached his hand right into the chest of some poor bastard right behind the tilt-o-whirl, and then he wiped his hand off and joined you for funnel cake as if nothing happened. It made me realize something about the Mikaelson’s”

“And what exactly was that?”

“You mask yourselves with charm and compassion even though you smell of blood and carnage underneath. You promise peace, but never deliver it.”

He was flippant with his words and it made bile push against Hope’s throat. That night, Klaus had compelled the operator for the Ferris wheel to bring their car to a complete stop, so close to the sky that they could touch the stars with her fingertips if she tried hard enough. And they sat and watched the people below and it was one of the moments she held in her heart closely.

“If your intention is flattery, you’re doing a fabulous job.” She leaned against the front edge of the bookcase, crossing her arms over her chest. “I truly sympathize with what you had to witness that night. No child should. But I fail to understand how a botched carnival in the ’70s contributed to this place,”

“The Kane’s have been successful in creating harmony in this coven for centuries. We rely on the magic of the earth and the family around us to balance aggressions. But your father… your father came into this town and showed me something that night. Why can’t one be powerful and melancholy all at once?”

Hope understood, even if she felt her very bones tighten around frozen veins. There was an ambition in Lucius’s eyes that scared her more than the demons that hid behind a suede jacket and a few pairs of boots. He was looking for a new order, and for a long time, Hope had let him run free.

The Garden District seemed like less of a threat than those at her doorsteps, but now, feeling his power and seeing his recklessness, she knew.

Hope hesitated for a moment before speaking “The girl is mine.”

“Now, Miss Mikaelson, I don’t think you understand the delicacy that is Elizabeth Saltzman. She’s a ticking time bomb with a clock that always reaches zero. She’s much safer here, at the compound.”

“Like Josie?”

“Josie is a different breed.” He reached onto his desk, palming a clear glass ball that rested against a stack of papers shrouded in ink. “She can control her impulses.”

“And Lizzie can’t?”

Lucius laughed, a sound that reminded her of the way gravel was under the rubber of tires. “Years ago, I got a phone call from Alaric Saltzman. A human who had a pension for the supernatural, so much so that he fathered two children with more power than the world had ever seen. One was meek and afraid, the other strong and possessive.”

He passed the paperweight from one hand to the other.

“He was frantic on the phone, poor man, had been able to keep his daughters docile and subdued but their power had grown to be too much. Elizabeth had nowhere to place her anger, her sorrow, and fires started to form around the small town that they lived in; a baseball field, a church, even an elementary school. She injured three people and nearly killed a forth before he loaded them into a car and drove here.”

Fire; it was destructive and burned white-hot, tearing through everything in its path until nothing stood but ashes and charred frames of what once stood. Hope was familiar with the scent and the way it coated her throat before seeping into her clothes. Those who set fires craved chaos within the deepest part of themselves. Those who set fires were ultimately cold and alone.

“I will always lookout for the best interests of New Orleans.” Lucius continued, setting the weight back down, his fingerprints smudged the surface “And for the good of the world, Elizabeth Saltzman should stay here with me, I know how to keep her sated.”

She took a few steps across the room “Sated is vastly different from sedated, none of the families here have a choice, do they? The girl stays with me.”

“Oh Hope, everyone has a choice until they choose not to." He paused, "Your daddy taught me that too." 

**The scent of** honeysuckle pierced Jade’s lungs as she walked along the length of a hewn wall. Its stones were discolored and gray from the nearby river. She could feel the warmth of the day build under her collar, but shoved her fingers into her pockets regardless, a nervous habit.

Josie Saltzman stared ahead at the horizon and the slowly darkening sky. Her bare feet hugged the grass and her deep eyes shined in something other than comfort. “When did you get turned into a vampire?” She asked.

“That’s a bit blunt,” Jade responded, frowning but then letting her features soften. “I was nineteen and it was 1872.”

The two of them stopped at the edge of the stone wall under a large and looming willow tree that shaded them from the world. She didn’t want to acknowledge the house behind them or the frosty look in Josie Saltzman’s eyes. So she was inclined to answer the question because Josie asked, no matter how invasive it felt.

“I used to live on a farm in rural Georgia. We had cows, and chickens and this little red barn that smelled of hay and mildew. We cultivated cotton, but our main focus was peaches- trees stretched as far as you could see in neat little rows. Peaches so sweet that one could hold you over for a week if you picked them close to the top.”

Josie scrutinized her but listened politely. She stared up at the weeping branches of the willow trees and breathed in, almost like the honeysuckle had trickled into the round and soft fruit. Her nose scrunched up.

“Josie, have you ever seen an orchard ignite with flames?”

And she shook her head no; because she hadn’t, at least she didn’t think so. Part of her, a part so buried deep inside, remembers the sound of wood crackling and the horrid glow that it created when an orange so vibrant ate away at its core. But her temples started to pound and she felt a wave of dizziness, so she leaned against the bark of the willow and waited like a child hearing a nursery rhyme.

“I woke up to fire, and the scent of blood. Of course, I didn’t know what it was back then, but my doorknob was hot to the touch and the rows of peach trees were at the mercy of destruction. You see- we knew the army was close, we could hear the cannons but we counted their distance like thunder and my family had no clue that the fighting would be right on top of us, or we would have fled.”

She ran her fingers over the bark and traced the grooves “My father was killed first, shot behind the knee and then in the back. The Confederate told my mother that he ran like a coward before shooting her between the eyes- because she didn’t back down. They pillaged the houses of the workers on the edges of the property too, left nothing of us civilians.”

“That’s horrible,” Josie spoke like they had read a story on the front page of the New Orleans Gazette. “How did you survive?”

“I suppose I took after my father because I hid under my bed until I fell asleep to the sound of gunfire and carnage. By the time afternoon hit the next day, the house was destroyed, it’s left side caught fire, and what wasn’t eaten was raided.” Jade swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry “Then I saw a pair of dirty boots and thought that I was done for. Hell, I should have been a long time before that.”

“Who was it, then? Clearly a friendly face, if you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t say friendly. Hope wasn’t in blue or gray, in fact, she was in a nice dress. For the time, I mean. She had heard my heartbeat and asked me to reveal myself. I recognized her- her family lived a few acres from my own. She would always buy peaches, make a pie with them, and leave them on our windowsill.”

She remembers the scent of nutmeg and the way that they thought it was strange of her, gifting them something that they could pluck from a branch and sloppily eat. But they were sweet and flakey and she had a knack for baking.

“She had blood running down her chin and her eyes were darker than slick ice. She knelt down in front of me and I trusted her. Don’t’ ask me why, but I did.” Jade snorted at her foolishness, and then her reluctance “I was only seven at the time, just a kid. The Mikaelson’s have rules and one of them is that you make your own choice and a child can’t right do that. So for my nineteenth birthday, after living with Hope for twelve years, she asked me if I wanted to be like her… and at that point, it was all I had ever known.”

“So you agreed, just like that?”

“I suppose it’s easy to agree to anything when you have nothing to lose.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! How are you guys holding up? Because I wish this pandemic would end. Anyway, let me know what you think!

**The glass shattered** into a million deadly pieces, shards sprinkling the mantel, sticking to the paint that was fresh on a wooden pallet- littering the expensive carpet colored with the most royal of reds and extravagant of blues. Hope was panting, her cheek burning, and a crisp line of blood rushing down her face until it reached her chin.

She knew the rage was her father; a rage inside her that would burn and twist until it left horrid marks on her own actions. That bitter side of him that fueled the fire of his temper like lighter fluid. Her mother was the only one to calm him after anger like that. Sometimes, even her soft and reassuring touch didn’t work.

He would vibrate with rage, a rage so strong that the whole entire house shook; rage that overtook Hope at this very moment. Breaking the glass hadn’t helped. The only thing that it did was make a mess she would have to clean up later.

She leaned her arm against the mantel of the fireplace and placed her forehead on her cool skin. A storm that had been brewing for most of the afternoon raged outside. She kept the doors to the balcony open, not caring much if the hardwood floor became weathered. It didn’t’ matter- nothing seemed to matter much.

Lucius Kane was a fox in her hen house.

His canine teeth were yellowed with blood and an army of followers waited at the ready to clean them. There was nothing ethical about the people who surrounded Lucius, but Hope had come to realize there was nothing ethical about the city of New Orleans a long time ago. But this felt different- darker, scarier.

There was a creak in the floorboard behind her, an even softer knock. Her voice came out as a low and raspy growl “Jade, leave me be.”

Her companion knew better than to disturb her during a time like this. When glass was broken, when canvas’s had been ripped and paint spilled like the very blood that dripped down her cheek.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” Not Jade. Lizzie Saltzman, her newest and bravest familiar, by the looks of it. Even shorter lived people in this position refused to approach her when she was in a mood- and she was in quite the one now.

Hope stood up straight and turned towards the girl. She had changed into sweatpants and a white t-shirt. Her hair was damp from a shower and smelled of sweetness. She clenched a leather journal to her chest like a life raft. The fire reflected from the brilliant green.

The older woman had to admit; she was intrigued by her valor and even more about the questions that danced around her mind. About the fires, and Lizzie’s own father. Lucius seemed like the type of man to spin lies like sugary strings of cotton candy at a street fair. This damp woman standing in front of her looked nothing of an arsonist.

But Hope supposed that she didn’t look like she carried a temper, either.

“Come in,” She confirmed, using the base of her palm to wipe away the streak of blood from air-born glass. It left an orange mark against her skin. “It’s no bother at all. What do you have there?”

Lizzie took a few daring steps into the room, her socked feet careful. Hope was not one to forget how vulnerable the girl was. She was afraid of the glass, of what the drawing of blood would do- what state it would put her in. But Hope had control over more than one aspect of her life, including her hunger.

It was a grimoire; Hope could smell the earthy magic that it possessed, even masked by the sweet vanilla scent of Lizzie’s skin. She pried it away from her chest and set it down on the coffee table before lowering herself to one of the leather seats. Hope wasn’t as careful with her movements, pouring two glasses of whiskey and setting them down on the table before sitting next to Lizzie.

“There are some people that follow Lucius blindly. They find comfort and peace in his every word. But there are others who treat him like an invader. Something that’s not supposed to be there… his teachings are still rooted somewhere deep within them but it’s easier to fight and defy him.” Lizzie swallowed thickly “My roommate, she’s one of those people. For how long, I’m not sure. But long enough to get this from his study.”

Hope nodded cautiously “Is that how you were able to escape?”

“No. Yes, I suppose.” There was a frown on her features, shaded in fire. Hope wanted to probe about what the coven leader had told her but thought better of it. Her emotions were running like an unchecked spark plug, anger still fresh on her skin. It wasn’t wise. “I’m a different kind of witch, remember, he needs me more than I need him and I’ve never been very good with authority.”

“Is that right?” Hope asked, her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raising just the right amount. Lizzie’s pale cheeks darkened to a fiery shade of pink. Her eyes flicked back to the yellowed pages of the spellbook and Hope smirked, deciding to let the statement lie in rest.

Lizzie began again “For the type of energy that Lucius needs in order to overthrow you, he needs us. Josie and I, and then the twelve dark objects that we’re to pull that energy from and place into him.”

“How many does he have?” She frowned.

“He has ten now, I have the eleventh with me and I suppose it’s a mad dash for the last one. Once he gets his hands on that- I figure he’ll wager Josie’s safety in return for me and the knife. Familiar or not I’d have to go with him.”

Hope could feel that all too cunning anger boil up inside of her again. She was never the possessive type, not like most of the Mikaelson’s; she enjoyed the posh estates and the endless supply of blood and the fancy clothes, the jewelry, but all of that was physical. None of that was Lizzie Saltzman- and some decayed part of her knew that she would never let the siphon out of her sight, power struggle be damned.

She must have been quiet for a moment too long, Lizzie’s gentle touch was on her knee, drawing her back from her thoughts. A grimace of concern was against her features, but she glanced up regardless.

“Hope, I know it’s not your fight but I need to save my sister. I need to save all of them because the second he gets that power… they’ll be useless to him, as good as dead.”

Hope felt like it was her fight; her struggle for the power of New Orleans seemed to pale in comparison to the hurt and pain and heartbreak that poured from Lizzie’s broken stare, reflecting the warm colors of the fireplace.

“We’ll get the last object and Josie.” Hope decided strongly, lifting her chin towards the grimoire “Do you think this will help us?”

Lizzie had a small, but sad, smile on her face “It should. She always called it her secret weapon, so there could be something good in there.”

Hope stared at the archaic pages, how they reeked of dark magic, unlike anything the Garden District used in their everyday life. It worried her, scared her even, but not as much as Lucius Kane and his horrifyingly loyal coven.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, guys. Here's a little action for you. Let me know what you think!

**The world was** quiet the night the house caught on fire. She was used to the noise; the way the train tracks backed her bedroom. It would bother her mother- the way the daily commuters would go by four times a day on a regular schedule. All that noise- all that commotion. The feeling of strangers' eyes watching them. It had bothered all of them except for Lizzie.

The locomotive would whirl by and it sounded like an earthquake. The sunlight, burnt and crimson, from the oncoming evening, would flash as the large machine took travelers from the city to their houses so far away from civilization, it might as well not exist in the first place. And Lizzie would watch- watch the way the shadows danced in a slow waltz until both participants faded away in the earth and the scent of coal vanished. It reminded her of fire; hot and dangerous. Uncontrollable. 

She had been oh so infatuated with fire; the way it tore through logs and created a familiar scent of magic, how it could spark so easily and rage for hours. Lizzie watched matches burn until the heat reached her fingertips and she had to stomp out the flames herself. She watched it the night it ravaged through her family home; the air wet and the bottom of her pajama pants soaked with soot and gutter water.

The people on the train watched their house more than ever that day; as plumes of black smoke overtook the sky and ash rang down like snow. The air was uncomfortably stiff- but still, Lizzie watched through the window as her mother buckled her into the back seat. And Josie grimaced away from the scene, smelling like camp, and despair.

Lizzie watched as Jade flicked the lighter again, a small bit of flame shading her face before she breathed with a bit too much force, and the small demon faded entirely. She did it again- almost rhythmically.

“Do you have to keep doing that?” Lizzie asked, voice timid.

Jade snapped her dark eyes from the lighter and lilted her head. “Do you have to make confetti out of that coaster?”

Lizzie blanched and looked down at her fingers, she had torn the thick cardstock into little pieces, shredding the elegant logo painted on the front. It was a nervous habit that she never intended to keep. She set down the edge of paper that she was tempted to split in two and shoved the little pile further from her. “Sorry.”

Jade shrugged and put the lighter down herself, resorting to tapping her fingers against the glossy top of the bar. Lizzie was beginning to think the both of them needed a drink. “Your sister,”

“What about her?”

“She’s safe there?”

Lizzie narrowed her stare “He’s not going to hurt her. He needs her. She’s important to him.”

She seemed to accept the answer, but her nerves still toyed with her enough to grasp at the lighter again. She stared at the ribbed starter for a moment before thinking better of it and placing it back on the counter.

“Would she ever… do you think Josie would be willing to break away from him? From all of them?”

Fire. It had a certain scent to it that made Lizzie’s throat burn and her stomach twist until it’s contents spilled across the floor. She didn’t like the way it destroyed so elegantly, in the most dangerous of passions. It was almost beautiful in that way, how it hissed and purred. How it took one moment to light a match.

“Josie follows the rules.” She whispered, staring at the ripped paper “She follows. She doesn’t lead. It’s difficult for her to make choices without examining every single possibility that follows. She can’t do that with him in her head.”

Jade nodded and picked up the lighter again. This time she did strike it and the soft rush of color reflected from the bottles that lined the walls. Lizzie wasn’t sure if they actually had alcohol in them or not. They were old, covered in dark labels from the 1800s. Easily destroyed.

“She broke rules once upon a time,” Lizzie moved her eyes up to the vampire “But not anymore.”

The door leading to the back of Rousseau’s swung open, it’s hinges creaking and the dullest scent of frozen meat filled the air. Hope overtook the room with her energy, glancing between her oldest friend, and her newest. Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but she thought better of it.

Hope dressed for the unseasonably warm weather, the neck of her t-shirt dipping too low for Lizzie’s imagination. She absentmindedly traced the line of fabric and the out of place cross that hung against her collarbone. Jade cleared her throat. 

“Right, what are your plans for today?” She asked the woman.

“ _Our_ plans,” Hope corrected gently, picking up the pen that rested on the far end of the counter. “Lizzie and I are going to the ninth ward.”

The Ninth Ward. Lizzie took a thoughtful sip of water and let the cold numb her throat. She had put too much faith in them before, as with the French Quarter witches. No one wanted to protect an outlier that smelled of swamp and tainted magic. She understood that now, but their own unconventional beliefs put the Ninth Ward Witches in a category of their own.

“And what, pray tell, are you going to do there? No witch well let you in ten feet of them without a fight. You might have to get your hands dirty.”

“Oh come now, I’m not above torture.”

“Torture?” Lizzie set the glass down next to her nest of paper.

Hope’s green eyes sparkled with curiosity, and maybe a bit of remorse. She looked like a wolf at that moment, even with her temper docile and calm like a common house pet. Lizzie had heard the glass shatter the night before, had smelled the blood on the girls' breath as they scanned the book.

Her expression was calm, a deeper type of smolder. “I suppose I’ve inherited my father’s way of doing things. I have a tendency to get what I want with a little bit of suggestion.”

 **The homes were** slathered in bright pastels, each in a specific and new order; pink, green, yellow, orange. Repeating again and again before fading away to a darker brick with deadened yards. White picket fences were erected around each house- slowly changing to chain-link and rusted metal.

The earth smelled fresh and soaked in rainwater from the latest hurricane. Lizzie watched as graffiti began to cover the walls and weeds stretched past boarded-up windows. Hope pulled the unmarked car up along the side of a mostly abandoned suburb street.

Factory smoke took on a different consistency than something that wasn’t supposed to be burning. It was fresh in its toxicity, still spreading mere miles away from where they were standing. The river raging like the train tracks that ran against the back of her childhood home.

It was a drab day, electricity fresh against her skin as she peered up at the large textile mill that was the heart of New Orleans long ago. Their boots crunched against gravel, and a certain chill bit at her fingertips. Lizzie stopped short of the large rusted doors.

“Don’t look so frightened Lizzie.”

The girl nodding, realizing that she didn’t hold her discomforts well. The energy radiating from Hope was a difficult one to pin down. It made her restless, reminded her of the shattered glass, and the pointed stare she gave when Lizzie was coated in puff mud and her own blood.

Hope didn’t bother knocking; the base of her boot broke easily through the rotting wood. Dust quickly filled Lizzie’s lungs, and she resisted the urge to clear them. The mill was vast, it’s paint peeling, the dull morning light filling the lobby.

Machinery had been ripped from its original flooring, wires, and discarded metal. Large stacks of books were lining the window, newspapers spread against the bottom floor. A long staircase led to much more- Lizzie’s curiosity nearly pulling her up them.

“Mary!” Hope called out, voice echoing “I know you’re here somewhere!”

There was no answer, and Lizzie strained her hearing to track someone down. The edged smirk on Hope’s lips meant that she had landed on something as minuscule as a quickened heart rate. She reached down, grabbing at the first thing that she could find; a rusted metal pipe. Lizzie took an instinctive step back.

“Mary,” She beaconed in a singsong voice, dragging the blunt end of the instrument against the cement floor. It screeched like nails on a chalkboard. Lizzie bit the inside of her lip hard enough to draw blood, wondering if the showmanship was necessary or not.

She shifted the pipe, wrapping both of her hands around it before swinging the item like a bat at the World Series. It clanged against a metal support beam, a subtle sheet of dust raining from the ceiling. Hope tossed the pipe against the nearest wall, it’s crusted paint coating the floor.

“I’m not a patient woman, Mary! I won’t hesitate to destroy something more than décor!”

“God, enough with the noise, Hope.”

Lizzie directed her attention to the sunbathed staircase. It creaked under the new weight. A woman that Lizzie didn’t recognize stood at the top. She was dressed in stained pajama pants and an equally sweaty sports bra. The scent of alcohol radiated from her with such intensity that even someone without superhuman senses could detect the vice.

Even still, she was breathtaking. Her brown skin soaked up the mid-morning rays and her hair curled in a perfect formation around her shoulders. Deep emerald eyes flashed from the hybrid to the siphoner. She seemed to sober up.

Hope looked defeated “Where is your mother?”

“She’s on business out of town, I’m afraid.” The girl purred, never taking her eyes away from Lizzie “Who’s this?”

Lizzie didn’t like the way she said that even more she didn’t’ like the way she looked at her. It was almost past her, through her. Hope took a few steps towards the middle of the room as the stranger ascended the rest of the stairs.

“Aletta,” She warned dangerously “what do you know about dark objects?”

The witch snorted and finally tore her stare away from Lizzie, “I know that they’ve been vanishing these past couple of months. Someone is after them. We all supposed it was you.”

Hope steeled her jaw as Aletta brought her swampy stare back over to Lizzie and a wave of discomfort enveloped her. She was being scrutinized and part of her felt as if she were a child clinging to her mother’s pant leg again, peering at flames slowly destroying a structure from it’s igniting point.

“You’re sorely mistaken.” Her voice was a low warning growl.

“A charismatic witch beat you here. He was all charm and smiles, the complete opposite of you, actually.” Aletta’s smile was wicked “My mother fell prey to his charms. Took a trip to see what he was worth. Unlike her, I’m not a fan of change. What day is it?”

"is that why you've drunken yourself into a stupor?" 

Lizzie lifted a brow “Thursday?”

The Ninth Ward Witch laughed as the two spoke at once, loud and boisterous before her face settled as stagnant water. She reached her perfectly painted fingers towards Lizzie’s face, curious and intense. Her breath reeked of bourbon and the thinly veiled chasers used to dull its bite.

“You brought a new pet? A powerful one too, he spoke of someone he lost.” Before she could run the pads of her callused touch against Lizzie’s cheeks, Hope wrapped her own fingers around Aletta’s wrist, not hard enough to break bones. It invoked a hiss of pain. “Relax. She’s as good as dead if he gets that final object. Let me have a little fun.”

Lizzie had never witnessed Hope as that wolf; she had seen the petulance and the annoyance and the deep-seeded fear that she caused in others. But never a rage that was powered by something other than sadness. This time was different; this time, Hope was lightning fast.

She had Aletta by the throat, her nails digging into skin hard enough to draw blood. The witch was pushed against the nearest wall. Rot fell away from the support beams like hardened ice. Hope's eyes were mostly pitch, dark and swollen with emotion. Her irises were like the moon, full, golden.

“Don’t.”

It was a simple, and powerful warning. Aletta laughed again, and then coughed “Be nice, Hope. I know where your little object is.”

“Where is it?” Lizzie found herself asking, stepping closer to the pair. Hope didn’t adjust her hold on the woman. But her stare softened. Lizzie hadn’t noticed the pointed canines. The flooded black veins. The face of a fire.

“The bayou, The Crescent pack has the last object.” She smiled triumphantly “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Hope finally released her hold. Aletta was hasty, assessing her wounds and the little half-moon shapes that the girl had left against her throat. The woman looked pensive, the soles of her shoes crunching against fallen plaster.

“The Orion Thimble.”

“What is that?” Lizzie asked.

“It’s the last known dark object in New Orleans. It amplifies the power of any New Moon to the point where a transition is nearly painless, I thought it was lost.” Hope lowered her voice to a mere whisper “my uncle… he made it as a present for my mother.”

Lizzie watched the pain on Hope’s face. She looked human again; not just in nature but in emotion as well. An embankment of memories had surfaced and the fight, that fire-filled rage, was no longer being fueled. It wasn’t even being stoked.

“Yikes,” Aletta walked towards the crumbling stairs, towards a put together part of her home. “Let me know if you see my mother lapping at his coattails, will you?”

Hope didn’t acknowledge her exit, or the way that the blood under her nails faded from a vibrant red to a muted brown. The world was quiet the night the house caught on fire- but it was even more so, the day that Hope realized she had to return home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow... It's been a little over four months since I've updated this. My Apologies! I've been super swamped with work. Anyway, Please let me know your thoughts, I'd love to know what you think!

**Hope wakes up** to the scent of blood; something potent and hot, like lead in the back of her throat. It makes the very back of her jaw ache something fierce. She can feel her heart in her throat too, an even coat of sweat making her sheets damp. It was intoxicating and startling, and she had both of her feet on the floor before she could truly shake the sleep from her mind.

She walks cautiously down the stairs in the compound, letting the stone numb her toes. She doesn’t think to grasp at a baseball bat, or a stake, or anything that could keep danger at bay because somehow, her bare hands would have been a worse consequence.

Hope spends little time in the kitchen, not because she doesn’t enjoy cooking, but because she simply hasn’t had time. She remembers being short enough to not reach the sink as her Aunt Freya kneaded dough into a thin line. They would always end up covered in powdered sugar but would be left with a delicious product of beignets.

Lizzie kneels on the Spanish tile now, muttering profanities under her breath as she piles larger shards of glass into her palm. Her fingers are slathered in rustic blood, glistening under the pale moonlight. She doesn’t’ notice Hope not at first, but she draws in a breath sharp enough to slice her skin a second time.

“Christ, you scared me” Lizzie stood with little effort and placed the glass in the sick “You move like a ghost, you know.”

“What do you know about ghosts?” Hope asked.

She had crossed the kitchen, resting her hand on the island. This small kitchen meant more to her when she was still human; more human than she had ever been, at least. The blood didn’t bother her and neither did the way it flooded past Lizzie’s fingers as she tried to subdue it.

“Did you cut yourself?” She tried again.

“Just a little scrape. Nothing too damaging, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Truthfully, she hadn’t. Hope was stuck in an endless loop of being on the brink of sleep. She could still sense the air flowing through her open balcony and hear the way the city that hardly sleeps started to shut its eyes. There was still a trumpet, muffled, bouncing off of the brick walls as the last of the buses carted drunken tourists back to infested rooms.

“No, you didn’t.” She swallowed and reached for one of the towels that hung from the oven. Hope let her fingers twitch as she held them out for Lizzie. The witch looked skeptical but eventually let the vampire take ahold of it. Her touch was gentle, quelling the sting of the pressure. “I think that we should… it’s a long drive to the bayou. We should start early when the roads aren’t packed with people.”

It was a casual conversation as if the two of them were heading to the airport before a vacation. This one didn’t end with sun shining beaches or cool mountaintops. This was a few hours out of town in territory that neither of them had dared to cross, not in a long time. 

Hope busied herself with the wound, pressing the cloth a little harder to the gash. Lizzie didn’t mean to breathe in that sharply. That plainly without any type of restraint. Hope’s pear colored eyes flashed up to hers, soaked in worry, or maybe curiosity, but not hunger. Not like Lizzie would expect.

She scoffed as if reading the witch's mind. “I have some control. Old as dirt. Remember?”

Lizzie nodded, more to herself than to the room. She had a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to sleep, even if she could ignore the persistent sting against her palm, the way the blood warmed it. Ever since the magic shop- she had struggled to grasp the energy that Aletta exuded and the ever potent sadness that Hope combated it with.

Hope lifted her chin, “Go on to bed, Lizzie. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

She didn’t’ have it in her to protest the fact that she hadn’t been a very good Familiar. Hope had a multitude of books on the subject and Jade was constantly in her ear reminding her that she had been there first; that she had received the gift of immortality in exchange for her loyalty when all she had earned was the simple luxury of survival.

 **Lizzie had swallowed** the molten black coffee that she didn’t’ have the patience to cool. It made her taste buds numb instantly and her stomach heats up, but she would rather cause a stomach ache than brave the silence of the old SUV. It must have had some type of sentimental value to Hope because the radio didn’t work.

They had gotten an early start, and had been driving for just under two hours now, but the clouds in the sky began to build and fester. It wouldn’t be long before they would have to flick on the wipers and lower their speed. Hope seemed to be careful about driving, despite having the advantage of eternal life. Lizzie couldn’t read her expression under the dark aviators.

“They won’t welcome us,” She finally said, and if the cab hadn’t been so quiet, Lizzie would have missed the words entirely, so soft and non-vocal. “The Crescent pack are a very private people.”

“You’re not welcome?”

Hope eased up on the gas and drew in a careful breath “My mother was revealed by them. She was their alpha until she was killed. It destroyed them, in a way, more than it did me. Their leadership… the command of the pack has been questioned since then.”

Lizzie saw the way the girl's jaw clenched, how her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, but not quite hard enough to bend it to her will. It looked utterly human, her distress. “You’re scared?”

“Please, I’m not one for fear, Elizabeth.” She said tersely “I control the whole of New Orleans. The witches follow my command, and so do the vampires. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

They were plunged into silence again. It had started to rain and Lizzie wanted to stick her fingers through the window, just to feel the cold rain rush against her palm. Maybe it would shock some sense into her. But then again, maybe nothing could.

“Do you miss her?”

“What?”

“Your mother, do you miss her?”

She shouldn’t’ have said anything. Even through the sunglasses, she could read Hope’s discontent. But it was rimmed in sadness, not anger- not like when she threw the crystal decanter against the mantel a few nights ago. This was different.

“I just… mine is gone now too. Lucius lured her in and has complete control of her. He has my father too- and I know it’s not the same. I can get them back, but it doesn’t change how much I miss them.”

Hope swallowed hard “She’s responsible for all the best parts of me. She was a natural-born leader and she fought until the very end. Fought for me until she couldn’t anymore. Of course, I miss her.”

Part of her felt like this was against the rules, like if there had been some sadistic handbook written about what a Vampire familiar should and shouldn’t’ do, that this would be in giant red letters, highlighted and bold, telling her to absolutely not do this. But regardless, Lizzie reached out.

She felt her fingers wrap around Hopes. She felt how cold they were, and how she stiffened under the sudden display of affection before softening entirely. It was brief, but it was enough to show Hope that she was there.

 **Hope pulled the** car as close to the tree line as it would go. They had been driving for hours now, and the storm picked up speed as they went. She could feel her heart in her throat, even if its beat was slow like a metronome. They sat quietly while she gathered her thoughts and Lizzie didn’t push.

The bayou was suffering from the onslaught of rain and mud squished under their boots as she followed a path that was all too familiar. The scent of water and dirt, and of her family coated her throat generously. Her memory served her well.

The pack stayed in a few cabins against the bank, their boats bobbing in the ever-shifting tide. She could smell fire too, and as they neared the clan the sound of folly and music hit her ears. She hated to break up a party with her presence, but she refused to shift her authority now.

A low level pack member was the first one to notice her. He stood from a folding lawn chair, lowering his drink as his face hardened. The rest of the group didn’t’ take long to follow his attention. The low strumming of a guitar stops entirely.

“Come out of the shadows,” A woman with dark grey hair spoke first. It was pulled up into a messy bun. The rest of the pack seemed to mind her well. “If you’re here to tear us limb from limb the least you can do is show your face.”

Hope felt a certain likeness from her, a warmth that she remembers fondly. She had met this woman before, had felt her brazenness. “We’re just here to talk,”

“just to talk? The last time a vampire stepped foot on these grounds there wasn’t much talking. And what’s that with you? A witch?”

She pulled her shoulders back and took a few more steps, this time, she embraced the light. The lanterns, strategically placed, caught her features afire. They danced against the scowl she tried to hide. It masked the fear and the guilt. She swore the alpha woman gasped.

“You’re right on all accounts.” Hope said, “We’re not here to cause you any harm. If fact, I’d like to make a deal.”


End file.
